


Sorrow Has a Human Heart

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Simple Man [20]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: At least in England, Canon Era, Canon has more or less committed suicide by now and I regret nothing, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Past, Dysfunctional Family, Family Loss, Father-Daughter Relationship, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Genderqueer Character, Grief/Mourning, Healing, I never promised consistancy, Idiots in Love, Implied FlintHamilton, Love, Lowbones, M/M, Matelotage, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, POV Billy Bones, POV Captain Flint | James McGraw, POV John Silver, POV Mary Read, POV Muldoon, POV Ned Low, Past Lives, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Pirate Husbands, Pirates are bad with feelings, Post-Coital, Really that's what they are at this point, Silverdoon, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, True Love, at all, because I keep ruining them, or lack there-of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21971653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: Greetings, fellow buckaneers! The best way to spend the holidays, is by writing more fan fiction and in this part, we get a little more Captain Flint and Mary Read - who surprised me - and more friendship, a royally pissed off gunner, a hurt poodle of a quartermaster, a perpetually confused first mate and two Captains (not) handling their respective losses.Lets just say that Mary Read is not impressed. Oh, and I wanted to tag the relationship between Flint and Thomas as past, but it seems like it doesn't show up in the tags properly then, so I want to just make it clear that this is long before Flint knows Thomas is still alive so the relationship is very much past for that reason.Title is stolen from Nightwish's "Sleeping Sun" and I might have stolen a phrase from Gemma Teller in Sons Of Anarchy. If you've seen the show, you'll know which one.
Relationships: Billy Bones/Edward "Ned" Low, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Edward "Ned" Low & Mary Read, John Silver & Mary Read, Minor! - Relationship, Muldoon/John Silver, Ned Low/Eliza Marble (past)
Series: A Simple Man [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530410
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Sorrow Has a Human Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rising_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/gifts), [TuridTorkilsdottir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuridTorkilsdottir/gifts).



**Billy Bones**  
“So I left Boston… Jus’ like tha’… Left my lass…”  
“You must miss her.”  
“Aye. But she’s got it better without me.”  
“You’re sure about that?”  
“The sea aint no place for a wee lass, stupid.”  
  
Billy smiles into his lover’s hair, keeping a hand onto the small of his back. He still has his legs around Ned’s hips, he’s not found it in him to let go and neither has his lover, although it seems kind of wrong to speak about Ned’s daughter while coming down from their coupling. The long, slightly sweaty hair is falling down Billy’s eyes and he undoes a piece of leather from his wrist, tying it back behind Ned’s ears. When his lover raises his eyebrows, Billy gives a little smile.  
  
“I’m ticklish in my face…”  
“Aye?”  
“ _Aye._ ”  
  
He teases because he can’t really say what he wants to. Since he has no words for what he feels that seem to fit. He’s deliciously sore, can’t recall when last he felt this, well, _fucked_ , and Billy can’t help but wanting – needing – to cuddle his lover like a thing of comfort in his arms. With the pretty but itching hair out of the way, Billy pulls Ned down onto his chest, stroking his damp back.  
  
“You’re cold?”  
“Nah. But I will be.”  
  
A problem easily solved. Having a broad body, means you most likely have a bit of warmth to share and Billy pulls the blanket over his lover’s bony frame, tucking him in. Ned has come to tolerate these affections more and more. He looks pretty like this, snug on Billy’s chest, pressing little kisses onto his collarbones.  
  
He lays his head down completely, ear onto Billy’s heart, making a pleased little hum. Then he chuckles.  
  
“Never thought ye’d want to be fucked.”  
“Why? Because I’m taller and broader than you?”  
“I guess tha’s a reason.”  
  
One of them, is the unspoken part because being the stronger one, means you have the upper hand and taking cock is a sign of weakness. Of submission, humiliation and discomfort. That’s not what Billy feels at all. He’s a little sore, but in the right way and his hole is still clenching a bit around air, the pulse not yet down entirely and Ned’s breath hot and raised onto his skin. Their spent cocks are resting together, not rubbing or pressing, just dormant and wet against their bellies and the wetness on the sheet tells Billy he’s leaking from Ned’s seed.  
  
“Ye never wanted a wife? Sons o’ yer own?”  
“No.”  
  
He shakes his head, almost a little surprised at how easy the answer comes. He strokes a finger over Ned’s spine.  
  
“I was fourteen when I first... Not by choice.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It was a long time ago.”  
  
The table in the quartermaster’s quarters, nailed to the floor, had pressed onto his belly, his hipbones, his cock that still was that of a boy, not a man. The thrusts had been relentless, punishing and tears only made it worse.  
  
Nothing, absolutely nothing about it had reminded of what he’d just experienced. He kisses Ned’s hair.  
  
“Thank you.”  
“For wha’?”  
“For giving me something I want to remember.”  
  
**Captain Flint**  
“You sure know how to turn the men in your favour.”  
“A skill we both seem to share.”  
  
There are moments when Flint wonders if he did wrong to let Silver live. Even crippled and in pain, the quartermaster remains as dangerous and manipulative as ever and Muldoon being back, unfortunately hasn’t made it easier. A part of Flint imagined Silver would become softer, not as focused on _survival_ , but that hope has long since been crushed. The once entirely self-centred man is a very dutiful quartermaster and the men love and rely on him too much for Flint ever to dare any real challenge.  
  
What he can, though, is to keep him on his toes. The few ones he has left.  
  
Silver is in pain today and usually, Flint wouldn’t see any need or urge to increase it. He’s not always a monster, he still has moments of decency and awareness of his men. Leaned back in his chair, not inviting Silver to sit down but simply waiting for the leg to force him to, is petty, but there are so few ways to make this man admit weakness or defeat, that Flint will take his victories where he can find them. And since the quartermaster not half an hour ago managed to talk more than two thirds of the crew into a nay vote for a prize Flint had had his eyes on for quite some time and – if only the men could learn fucking patience – could’ve been theirs in but a few days, but no.  
  
He just lost a ship filled with tobacco so he could care less about Silver’s discomfort.  
  
“With all due respect, Captain…”  
“Your respect is the least of my concerns. You have any idea what we just gave up?”  
“Billy’s not here and…”  
“Who gives a shit about Billy?!”  
“I thought we all did.”  
  
The way Silver raises his eyebrows and tilting his head, just makes him look like he’s ridiculing and Flint presses his lips together, staring hard at the cunning little thief who leans onto his crutch since he’s too damn proud to ask to sit down. Flint hates the way Silver keeps crawling under his skin.  
  
“We gave up a fortune, due to _you_ caring more about a few days on shore, than the future.”  
“The future? You’re caring about our future now?”  
  
Silver smiles and then shakes his head, now chuckling.  
  
“Sorry, my mistake. Not _our_ future, right? _Your_ future.”  
“Since when did you become so concerned with anyone but yourself? This crew, your position… When have they ever been more than tools for you to secure your own future?”  
  
For once, the silver tongue seems caught between words and it’s Flint’s turn to laugh, pinning those deceptive eyes down with a cold stare.  
  
“Ah, yes. Muldoon. Poor man… I bet you’ve even convinced him that you actually care.”  
“My matelotage is none of your concern, Captain. If you have a problem with two men being intimate, I feel sorry for you.”  
  
How little he knows, this man who prides himself of catching, twisting and re-shaping every word whispered past his ears. They’re alone below deck, the men busy with the sails and since Silver is who he is, and Flint is the monster he is, no one hears the punches onto a stomach, the slamming of a head into the desk or the muted grunts of a man trying to hide the fact that the Captain is beating up his crippled quartermaster due to a comment said quartermaster didn’t know would feel like getting a not even nearly healed wound deepened and more opened.  
  
Flint hears, sees, feels nothing as he cowardly attacks a man who might be a scheming, back stabbing little shit, but who really has nothing to do with the loss that created Captain Flint and who’s matelotage most certainly isn’t formed to cause pain.  
  
“Stop… Please, Captain…”  
  
There it is. The begging. A meakness, _weakness_ , a man who wont be saved by his silver tongue and knows it. The rage starts to fade, the madness that is Captain Flint’s persona, the mask James no longer can take off because it’s become one with the man who died with Thomas and any attempt would just tear off pieces of the face he’s hidden for so long.  
  
Seeing Silver crouch and lower, begging for mercy is a small solace but at least it _is_ one. Flint has so few of them left, he’s taking what he’s offered. In that manner, he’s a begger too and as everyone knows, beggars can’t be choosers.  
  
Captain Flint, how ever, is mercyful. Much more so than Silver will ever know, because the quartermaster may keep digging for the key to who Flint actually is, but it’ll be for nothing. This man will never know how the _lack_ of mercy feels like when it truly matters.  
  
**Ned Low**  
He’s not a gentleman. Never was, never will be and certainly never pretending to be either. But he’s a man who knows how to be gentle, taught up by a woman with a human heart and loving soul. Away from the eyes of other men, protected by the darkness of their chamber, she guided his callous and clumsy hands, with firm kindness. Eliza knew her own body well, wasn’t ashamed of her needs or afraid to show him how she wanted to be touched.  
  
She hated lies of all kind, she told him before the wedding and Ned could only agree. Lies were the tools of wee lads and weak men and something to despise. She’d told him she wasn’t a virgin but had not carried children or suffered from the French disease. She was no whore, she told him that with a firm gaze, and showed her four daggers – stolen – stuck in different places where she could reach them. He’d not taken it as a challenge or been dismayed, but impressed.  
  
He didn’t need a fair lady, but a woman of the world who knew hardships, clear-eyed and strong. With Eliza he found one who not only was all of that, but also smiling, soft and with eyes not yet darkened by life. She’d wanted him both by day as her companion and by night as her husband. They worked, ate, rested and slept together and she never commented his many scars, never made him feel revolting or even ugly. When she told him she was carrying his child, she looked so happy and the question of whether it was wanted or not, something Ned had worried about, never came up.  
  
Now he’s not drowning in the depths of his own losses, but merely floating on the surface of his matelot’s past. There are no loving wife or innocent children, no bonnet removed at wedding night to be found there. Billy’s first encounters in that area, save for curious kisses in the alleys, are all about pain and fear, of humiliation and loss of control.  
  
The rapes performed by the stranger were many, Ned remembers them all too well. He remembers how, at one point, his own body betrayed him and gave up seed, as if he was enjoying it. The shame of it still burns but he wants to remain an honest man, since he can’t be a good one.  
  
“I spilled when… in the cellar…”  
  
It shouldn’t be hard to say, Billy already knows most of it, the core of what brings nightmares, weakened limbs and foggy vision. A hand, warm and broad, strokes his shoulder.  
  
“So did I when I was... Didn’t choose that either. Those times… none of us got to choose, love.”  
  
Spoken with Billy’s calm voice, those dangerous words sound so natural, no more shame attached than to any other wounds. Billy’s lips are ghosting over his skin, fingertips walking across still aching bones.  
  
“I chose you, Ned… _We_ chose this… Us…”  
  
Another dangerous word. _Us._ It erases distance, implies a bond that may or may not be there that must consist of something more than that of carnal pleasures or a bloodline made from children. Something tells Ned, in a rather angry, hissing voice, that he should stop pretending he’s got anything to give aside from sex, but he’s not gonna listen. Not now. They’ve spoken enough about ugliness for now.  
  
He left Boston, Billy was taken from Kensington and he rescued Ned from the cellar where he was a prisoner and they’re here now, together and alone, away from prying eyes and iron shackles. Sorrow and grief are their companions, but Ned starts to believe it’s possible to walk parts of the road without their company. Without shadows of the past or an unknown future. Without the constant rage and hatred onto a path where you can be gentle despite not being anything close to a gentleman.  
  
**John Silver**  
“I’ll kill him! I swear to God…”  
  
John doesn’t answer. What would he say? That he’s had worse? That Flint is mad and that this is nothing compared what could’ve been? Muldoon wont challenge Flint unless he has John’s support and they both know that. Right now, John is more concerned about the fact that this is pain his furious lover can’t spank away. Usually, that does the trick for both of them.  
  
Muldoon goes on and on, rambling really, and John’s head hurts, he feels trapped, not just between Flint and the crew, but between Muldoon’s rage and his pain as well and he grabs Muldoon’s wrist.  
  
“Please, stop…”  
  
He feels tears of embarressment, of humiliation because it wasn’t long since he literally begged Flint and got scorned for it, for showing the weakness the insane man demanded to see. He doesn’t have the strenght to take one of Muldoon angry rants, he’s too tired, too worn out from carrying the burden of Flint’s rage alone for so long.  
  
John looks at his matelot, showing the weakness he knows the man already sees.  
  
“Just… hold me, Muldoon.”  
  
This is new to him, so very foreign and John doesn’t want to know if it’s due to his fancy for being dominated by the gunner or not. He’s exhausted, he’s hurting inside out and if Ned Low is allowed to let go, maybe there’s an opening for John as well. To be weak without loosing face. He’s not Flint. He doesn’t need to break another man’s body to keep _his_ mask in place.  
  
Muldoon is good. He doesn’t suffer bullshit, but he also knows when there really isn’t the right time to lecture or ask questions. As he very gently takes John in his arms in a position designed to put as little pressure as possible on the things that hurt, hiding the weakness like Billy hid Ned in the carter cargo space, John’s body finally settles into the old state of partial and temporary privacy he learned at night at the orphanage, and lets go.  
  
He, who is the master of words, the silver tongue, has never attempted to put words onto the things better left forgotten. Survival and freedom depends heavily on the ability to remember and forget the right things and among those who should remain in the darkness, is how it felt to go to bed with a bleeding back and empty belly, shivering with cold under thin blankets and knowing that any attempt to seek out warmth close to another boy in the bed will result in more punishment.  
  
Muldoon taught him how to cry without loosing face and as capable of loving someone John could be, he’ll always love the gunner for that.  
  
**Mary Read**  
“Your mate did that?”  
“Muldoon? Oh, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”  
  
Mr. Silver looks awful with a swollen face and a purple bruise spreading. He’s smiling which somehow makes it worse and he’s tried to cover parts of it up by tying his hair looser. Come thinking of it, as little as Mary knows about the gunner, he doesn’t seem like a man who’d do that to his matelot. Or anyone without a good cause.  
  
“Shouldn’t you let the doc take a look at that, Mr. Silver?”  
“Thank you for your concern, Read. You’re a good m… person.”  
  
He almost calls her _man_ and despite the fact that she isn’t one, but a woman, Mary appreciates how the quartermaster isn’t seeing her as some girl in men’s clothes. That her disguise is good enough to stand for itself even for someone knowing her secret. Mr. Silver’s secret is, how ever, something Mary suspects no one really knows and one that it’s best to leave be. In many ways, Mr. Silver is a far more dangerous man than Captain Low.  
  
“You could use some arnica on that.”  
  
When Silver doesn’t answer, Mary gets tired of stubborn men and rolls her eyes.  
  
“I’ll look for the doc.”  
“I don’t…”  
“Just to get arnica, mate. Jesus, you _men_ …”  
  
She’s more than aware of the smile that follows her out and she walks untouched over the ship until she finds Dr. Howell engaged in a conversation with DeGroot and Mary clears her throat, having both of them turn around.  
  
“Yes, Read?”  
“Sorry for interrupting you, doc. Sailingmaster.”  
  
She’s polite, a habit difficult to get rid of and DeGroot always looks a little amused whenever she addresses him, always using the title. The doc smiles.  
  
“What can I help you with this time, Read?”  
“Arnica, doc.”  
“Arnica?”  
“For uhm… bruises.”  
  
The doc raises his eyebrows.  
  
“I know what arnica is used for, Read. May I ask what’s so urgent that time can’t heal it?”  
“It’s not for me, doc. It’s… “  
  
She throws a look at DeGroot who just shrugs and leaves. Dr. Howell folds his arms.  
  
“Well?”  
“It’s for Mr. Silver, doc.”  
“He’s overused his leg again?”  
“Uhm… yeah. Yes, doc, he has.”  
“Of course he has…”  
  
The sarcasm doesn’t escape her but the doc still leaves his spot and walks below decks with Mary in in tow. Dr. Howell never lets the men into his chest of medicaments unsupervised and he quickly finds what Mary needs, handing the small pot over with a smirk.  
  
“Please, tell the quartemaster not to overuse the boot or I’ll have him paid in arnica instead of coin next hunt.”  
“I will. Thank you, doc.”  
  
**Muldoon**  
John is not yet there, not _his_ John. The door of _John Silver_ is opened though and Muldoon can spot the man he’s come to care for enough to share his bed and burdens. The miscoloured skin smells from arnica, at least he’s following some of the doc’s advices, but the look in the dark eyes is so distant, so lost somewhere Muldoon can’t see and it scares the gunner.  
  
“John?”  
  
Still that blank look and so Muldoon puts the arnica down and takes his matelot’s hand.  
  
“Hey, look at me, my love… I’m here, John.”  
  
He uses his softest voice, only to see the door getting shut, but only for a moment, then the pain his silver tongued lover can’t speak of kicks it open and _his_ John is back, but in a form so hopelessly lost and broken Muldoon wants to cry as well. Instead, he pulls his lover into his arms and holds him gently, keeping every broken part known to him in mind.  
  
Muldoon has never reflected over his relationship with John too much. It is what it is, a friendship turning into mutual attraction and further. A companionship, sort of, the kind of _marriage_ two men can get in a world they’ve chosen to turn upside down and make anew. Flint is right in that: they’re princes of the new world. They rule this place and there will be hell to pay for those trying to take this kingdom away. If only he’d stop acting like he’s king and John is his man servant.  
  
The curlyhaired head in Muldoon’s lap is shaking along with the rest of John’s body and Muldoon gives comfort by slowly stroking the tangled curls, undoing knots where he finds them without disturbing the kind of tears that need time and patience, not words, to stop. John so rarely allows himself much comfort, especially from others, and he was immensely suspicious to begin with, when Muldoon showed him affections beyond a good fuck.  
  
The initial surprise Muldoon first thought was silly, then frustrating and now, having come to know at least more parts of John than the rest on this ship – and no, not just in the physical sense – looks back to with a hint of sadness. Because while love certainly isn’t something one goes looking for in this world unless you’re daft, some fucking decency and _kindness_ shouldn’t be that hard to find. Making John understand, accept and dare to face the fact that not every bond between humans must be a battle for the upper hand is, in many ways, just as hard a fight as standing up against Flint or passing a maelstrom.  
  
It feels good, Muldoon thinks as he strokes the unruly hair, that he didn’t have to hit his matelot to make him let go this time.  
  
**Billy Bones  
**Growing from a tall and scrawny boy into a burly man is by no means something unique for him, but the way it happened, is. Few men can tell the story of how they got rescued by pirates and then earned a place in their crew after being allowed to heal and grow. Few men aside from Flint are still alive to tell the tale of how William Manderly became Billy Bones.  
  
The first time after the rescue, Billy remembers as one of equally parts of relief, fear, distrust and comfort. Much of it is wrapped up in the merciful cover of time and oblivion but there is plenty he remembers clear as day, especially the grief.  
  
The pirates with blackened faces and terrifying grins boarding the ship, soon became men, but no less antagonizing. They didn’t hurt him, quite the opposite, but a then seventeen year old Billy had suffered under the Navy Captain for three years by then and that memory was difficult to fade out, to say the least. It took many weeks until the men tasked with helping him stopped wearing leather cuffs and gloves to protect themselves from his teeth.  
  
They gave him a bunk, blankets and new clothes. They tended to his wounds, fed him, not barely eadible scraps but good food, better even than the Navy Captain had, and the hands offering it, didn’t demand anything in return. He cried like a baby at night, sometimes wetting the mattress and even then, the man he came to know as Hal Gates, didn’t punish or ridicule him. He wasn’t father, of course not, but the quartermaster reminded of one and some nights when Billy couldn’t sleep and feared the loneliness as much as the darkness, he would sneak up from his bunk and over to Gates’, just standing there until the easily disturbed quartermaster woke up, noticed him and allowed him to curl up to his back and share the bunk.  
  
Mr. Gates never ever made any advances but came to treat Billy as a sort of son, long after the scared kid with nightmares had become a reliable, valued bosun. And while his foster father no longer is alive, the gentleness he showed that incosolable boy, is as much a part of who made Billy the man he is today. A pirate, yes. A ruthless killer, scum of the sea, a menace to humankind deserving Hell, but also a man who can tell right from wrong, justice from injustice – and love from abomination.  
  
Billy looks at his sweet, untamed lover.  
  
“You make me feel things I still don’t understand…”  
  
He strokes a thumb, first under the seeing, then the blind eye. The skin there is so thin, so soft.  
  
“Never wanted a wife, or a woman… Or sons of my own. I’ve had plenty of time to think of that, Ned, but no matter where I look inside me, I can’t find that longing. Not for a _wife_.”  
  
**Captain Flint**  
_Who gives a shit about Billy?_ The short answer is: many. The entire crew, for a start, and especially Muldoon and Silver. Second, there is Captain Low, a man who somehow managed to loose his ship, his crew and his position while gaining Billy. It’s almost a mockery image of James’ own loss. A man lost and a ship, a crew and a captainship gained.  
  
As much as Billy annoyes Flint at times, especially when siding with Silver in a matter, he misses the first mate right now. Billy is as liked by the crew as Silver and has another way of adding stability and calm to situations. Silver is the mind but Billy carries the crew’s heart, such as it is, and his loyalty, courage and strenght comes second only to Gates. There was a good reason why there was never a question about who’d be quartermaster that time and why Billy’s return resulted in him becoming first mate without a vote.  
  
Flint has locked himself in his cabin, letting DeGroot handle the rudder along with Silver and the unspoken part of the answer to the question is that one time, Flint would’ve cared too and the reason he doesn’t, isn’t because of Billy, but himself. He’s not cared about anyone or anything but revenge, a long, cold revenge, since loosing Thomas, even the love he had for Miranda paled in comparison for that passion to make England tremble in fear.  
  
The love Billy has for Ned is, perhaps, the first thing Flint finds himself able to connect to on a deeper level. Because it’s a man and one who’s suffering, and because Billy suffers due to it. Because while he might not be prepared to set the world on fire due to it, he’s abandoned his position like nothing and Flint knows the formidably loyal first mate would never have done that unless he felt something for someone that the crew and the brotherhood he holds onto can’t give him.  
  
Since Captain Low came onboard, Flint has been forced to let go of some initial ideas about the man. He’s a simple man in many aspects, but he’s most certainly not a _simpleton._ He’s the kind of man even Thomas would’ve consider a lost cause but in order to understand a man like Ned Low, one must be familiar with darkness and Thomas was all about light. The losses, whatever they are, are plain as day if you know what to look for and that’s where Flint find a connection, how ever distasteful, to the one-eyed brute.  
  
And while Billy is not resembling of Thomas as all, Flint can still spot a trace of decency, a pathos that he knows Thomas would’ve sympathized with. If half the stories of Ned Low are true, which Flint really can’t tell, then Billy has a great deal more capacity for understanding than Flint gives him credit for.  
  
**Ned Low**  
She can’t be replaced and it feels good that Billy understands that. Jealousy seems foreign to Ned’s lover and he’s not interested in taming either. It’s a very strange thing, Ned thinks, to be wanted not to be kept in a cage or a leash. And he’s still not sure why he’s wanted by Billy or if the man understands who Ned really is and why loving him is even more strange.  
  
Living in the now may keep the memories of who he was at bay, but when that now has the form of a man who wants to know who Ned once was, the past can’t be forgotten. It’s only since falling for Billy, that Ned has started to remember who he used to be and he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing, that the first mate must’ve seen a part of that man before Ned was even aware of his existance. After all, it seemed certain that the man he once was, had died.  
  
Ned is a simple man. He loves the way he hates, without mercy, without regrets. He’s never felt shame for wanting someone, man or woman, he’s not having the thought of tasting forbidding fruit for engaging in sodomy. The fact that Billy is a man, or that Ned doesn’t really miss the company of women with him isn’t causing concern. What’s confusing is what Billy sees in him that he couldn’t find in another man. A better one.  
  
_You make me feel things I still don’t understand…_  
  
The one thing Ned does understand, is that whatever this love they share is, it’s there and that the thought of not having Billy hurts too much. That wherever they go, if they’re separated, there will be a part of Ned going with the first mate, one he’ll never get back and Billy isn’t the only one taken by surprise.  
  
Eliza has his heart but to share a beating one with one that’s stopped, is a slow, living death Ned has tasted for far too long now. Since her death, there used to be two things left to feel: hatred, rage and regret and Ned never intended to carry around any other emotions than those. He never intended on living long enough to need anything more.  
  
They’re sore from being unused, like the skin of a newborn’s feet, these feelings he’s struggling to come to terms with. They’re connected to the way Billy says his name, looks him in the eye and holds him close when he doesn’t need to. To how he sees the brokenness, the lost parts, the hollow depths and yet looks like he’s finding something of worth there. The only thing Ned was ever good at, to some extent, was to be a husband and a father and here he lies with a man who never wanted a wife or sons. He can’t fight, kill, drink or fuck his way out of this, and the skin of these newborn feelings is far too sensitive for him to walk away. He’d not get far before his heart catches up.  
  
Yes, Billy makes Ned feel things he’s not used to, doesn’t reckognize and it’s as scary as it’s thrilling. Sore or not, he can’t just walk away anymore.  
  
**John Silver  
**As much as he hates being stuck, hates the feeling of vulnerability and more than all, hates himself for the weakness it makes him show, he loves to be held by Muldoon like this. His matelot has fetched a bottle of rum and, to John’s amusement, a package of candied fruit. He’s also brought his sack of private belongings and pulls out a pillow, his blanket and a book he most likely hasn’t even opened.  
  
Despite the pain, John grins at him.  
  
“The hell, mate? You snuck into the Captain’s cabin?”  
“I’m not _that_ crazy, John. It’s Billy’s. Figured he wouldn’t mind me borrowing it since he’s not here.”  
“If you forget to return it…”  
“Then I just blame the only known thief onboard.”  
  
John laughs.  
  
“Good point. Do you even know what it is?”  
“I didn’t look. Could be the bloody bible if we’re unlucky.”  
“Billy? Reading the bible? Sure, and I assume DeGroot has a book of hymns in his trunk and Joji a collection of rosaries under his pillow as well.”  
“Made from the teeth of his victims.”  
“God, you’re disgusting sometimes, Muldoon.”  
“You’re the one farting in the sleep.”  
“I’m not!”  
“It’s happened.”  
  
John just shakes his head. Muldoon can be awfully stubborn when he wants to and when he’s in that mode, not even John can win. Sometimes that’s good, probably. John leans back onto Muldoon’s frame and the gunner opens the book, starting to read what turns out to be a goddamn cooking book and John shakes his head.  
  
“Are you serious?”  
“ _A Book of Cookrye. Very necessary for all such as delight therin. Gathered by A.W._ ”  
“Jesus Christ…”  
“ _And now newly enl…_ the fuck… _enlarged with the serving in of the Table_.”  
“You’re gonna read me a fucking reciped collection?”  
“Would you rather have me singing?”  
“Heaven forbid!”  
  
Muldoon has many qualities, but a singing voice is not one of them and if he’s so damn determined on passing time down here by reading from a cook book, then why the hell not. John throws a suspicious look at the book.  
  
“Why the hell would Billy have a cooking book anyway?”  
“Because I thought he should have something from the last prize.”  
“You mean you’re borrowing something he doesn’t even know he has?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then I’d suppose it’s not really borrowing, since he’s not gotten it yet?”  
“Details, details, matelot. Now shut up and learn how to fucking cook.”  
  
**Mary Read**  
All these men, so goddamn _sensitive…_ Mary looks in the mirror that hangs in the Captain’s cabin and what she sees is a young man with dirty face and hands, arms bulging a little and hair growing a little too long. That’s been one of the best things about presenting as a man: to have short hair not getting in the way all the time.  
  
Not a man, not a woman. Nor a fragile girl or clumsy little boy. She’s whoever she needs to be and that may shift depending on the situation. She’s the youngest onboard and therefore the one restoring the Captain’s cabin to something more presentable. It’s consider a lower task, yet not one to cause the others to treat her worse. They’re all afraid of their Captain and Mary is no exception, but the man knows she’s a woman, that’s clear, and he’s not made her life worse with that knowledge.  
  
Right now, the terrifying man is deep in his log book and Mary with her bucket and cloth could be a dust of wind. Mary doesn’t take it personal. He’s like that with everyone. He did, how ever, hurt her friend, the quartermaster, and that is another thing. To Mary, that’s personal.  
  
Mr. Silver has been good to her, as has his matelot and of course the doc, not once giving the others a hint about her secret. The crew is starting to become, maybe not her friends, but brothers in the same sense they’re brothers to each other. She’s sharing the jokes and the laughters, getting the pats on the back, the quarrels and drinks and complaints just as the rest. It’s difficult to tell how many of them knowing her secret without talking. Mary has been forced to remake her image of pirates several times since Captain Low raided the ship.  
  
Captain Flint is the most difficult one yet. Some days it’s as if he’s not a man, but a creature of sea only disguised as a human. It’s like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin, Mary thinks. The way he looks in the mirror is like he’s challenging the man he sees. A perpetual war within where there’s no winner because there’s no ending to it. And the ones getting caught up in one of his battles, get hurt. She’s not forgotten the blood on Mr. Silver’s face and how his limp was worse. Hurting a crippled man is a cruel and cowardly thing to do and whatever reasons the Captain thinks he had, Mary wont accept them.  
  
She removes a book, wipes the dust away from it’s spot and then, for some reason, she opens it, her eyes catching an inscription.  
  
_James, my truest love. Know no shame.  
T.H._  
  
“Don’t touch that.”  
  
Mary freezes on spot from the voice. She’s just standing there with the small book in her hand, still looking at the elegant handwriting. She can’t move or look up, can only hear the footsteps, calm and therefor much more horrifying. The hand that removes the book, doesn’t rip it from her hands, but takes it carefully and she sees how it strokes over the cover, gently, before putting it back on it’s shelf.  
  
“I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t…”  
  
She’s always been curious and curiosity killed the cat, mother used to say. Mary looks at the Captain.  
  
“Who’s T.H.?”  
  
There’s a moment where Mary thinks the stories about a monster disguised as a human are true, the way Captain Flint looses all color, the eyes turning into bits of coal, only a sliver of green left, and then, just as she thinks he’s gonna reach for his gun and shoot her on spot, he looks away.  
  
She can barely breathe, the cabin seems sucked dry from air, empty yet cramped. The Captain’s voice is hollow, when he finally speaks, sounding like he’s far, far away despite standing a few feet away.  
  
“Someone… dear to me.”  
  
He turns around, now looking at her again.  
  
“You may leave, Read. This… this is good enough.”  
  
Mary just nods, holding the rag hard in her hand and hurries out, closing the door to whatever pit of hell she accidently stepped into. She needs a drink.  
  
She walks a few steps, then she stops. There’s a flare of anger she realises she’s tried to stub out since seeing Mr. Silver’s bruised face and Mary forces the image of monsters away and walks back, opens the door most rudely, closing it and approaches the desk before the Captain even has had a moment to speak.  
  
When he just quirks his eyebrows, Mary has had enough and she refuses to turn her gaze away, staring him dead in those eyes the men are so afraid of.  
  
“You have anything to say, Read?”  
  
He sounds amused and that only makes her more angry. She clenches her teeth.  
  
“Mr. Silver is my _friend_ , Captain.”  
  
The air she couldn’t find before, suddenly fills her lungs and Mary feels completely calm as she addresses the man who thinks his troubles, _his_ pain, is above everyone elses.  
  
“I don’t know what he said to you, Captain, but I don’t take kindly to anyone hurting my friends.”  
“Is this your idea of a threat, _girl_?”  
  
The remark is meant to throw her off balance but Mary already knows the Captain knew her secret and she’s not giving him a victory he hasn’t earned. Instead, she just looks at him, reminding herself it’s a man of flesh and blood before her, not a supernatural creature of destruction. She’s already seen the man behind the legend of Ned Low and when keeping that in mind, Mary finds it a lot easier to look past the persona of Captain Flint.  
  
She’s not smiling, because she’s not doing this to challenge him like that.  
  
“No, Captain. This is my idea of telling you that whatever Mr. Silver said, attacking him like that was a cowardly and cruel thing to do.”  
“Your concern is touching, but I don’t think Mr. Silver would return the favor, girl.”  
  
He doesn’t seem angry at her, just amused, and he smirks.  
  
“For a girl as clever as you, you’re dangerously stupid. You’re among pirates now, Read, not English merchants and I don’t know which kind of fairytales you’ve been fed, but this life isn’t one of love and care and… decency. This is no place for a woman. Or _love_.”  
  
Mary smiles, shaking her head, because she can see the man clearer now, and the chivalry that will prevent him from cutting her down. He thinks he’s a man of the world, but that’s the problem: he’s a _man_ , meaning he only knows half of the world he thinks he’s ruling.  
  
Mary looks at him, the eyes those of a man again, and as so many men, he thinks he knows himself, the world – and women.  
  
He knows nothing.  
  
“ _Women_ , Captain, need to be needed. Only _men_ need to be loved.”  
  
**Muldoon**  
“Should I be worried?”  
“About what?”  
“Read.”  
  
John snickers. They’re standing by the railing, watching another jowl of brothers leave for their turn on shore. This time, Captain Flint is among them and that’s probably good, because since Read came out from his cabin with a look that seemed like it could’ve sharpened Joji’s sword, the Walrus has felt like a barrel of gunpowder laying in glowing embers, getting closer to explosion by the second. No one dared to ask, not Read and certainly not the Captain, everyone pretending to be busy as fuck with the most ridiculous tasks. Read had just taken to peeling potatos, calm as the surface of a stilled ocean – and just as dangerous.  
  
You could smell the blood she’d gladly get on her hands if needed and no one wanted to know the taste of it.  
  
Muldoon searches for his matelot’s hand, lowering his face into the curls he’s not at all ashamed of being so mesmerized by. Usually, they’re not displaying affections so openly, especially not _Silver_ , but right now he’s just _John_ and Muldoon’s grumpy heart is fluttering from the way his impossible, scheming and undecipherable lover not only lets him, but leans onto him just enough to take some pressure of the stump. A show of weakness, of need, that just doesn’t happen openly.  
  
Read peels potatos like Joji sharpens his blade and Muldoon frowns.  
  
“I think you just got yourself your own personal bodyguard.”  
“I thought you held that position.”  
“And look how well that turned out.”  
  
John entangles their fingers together, tilting his head slightly towards Muldoon’s chest.  
  
“I’m not your matelot for protection, idiot. If I’d wanted a bodyguard, I would’ve asked Joji.”  
“He would’ve cut off your tongue for talking too much after two days. I’m kinda surprised I haven’t considered it yet.”  
“You would miss it too much.”  
  
The opening for a lewd reply is obvious but it’s been a very long time since Muldoon felt John showing signs of comfort outside the very private moments and he doesn’t want to ruin this rare, so very rare moment of simple, genuine affection. Instead he kisses those curls again, careful not to touch the bruised side of John’s face.  
  
“You think there’s a chance we could take to that cabin when Billy and his Captain are back?”  
“Probably.”  
  
John then turns his head upwards a bit, looking at him with a curious gaze.  
  
“Why are you calling him Billy’s _Captain_?”  
“He’s a Captain. Or was. Are you still a Captain without a ship or a crew?”  
“I… actually don’t know.”  
  
Muldoon shrugs.  
  
“Captain or not, he’s still Billy’s.”  
“Most definitely.”  
“And you’re _mine_.”  
  
John Silver is the master of loopholes, of escapes and secret paths. He’s not one to be kept in a leash, you can’t possess him and even in shackles, he can rule your mind and play it like a lute. He’s no one’s and Muldoon knows that. He’s not expecting the things his matelot cannot give. There’s a closed door inside John no one passes and while most men probably has one, the path to it is very short and there’s no key to be found. Muldoon suspects the quartermaster threw it away himself a long, long time ago.  
  
He can feel John’s chest rise and sink against the arm he’s wrapped around him. Their fingers are still swirled together over the heart beating a little too fast under John’s striped shirt. It’s all the answer needed.  
  
Muldoon doesn’t want to let go, the evening is calm and the Walrus is, for once, not loud and noisy. It’s almost peaceful and he glances towards the shore.  
  
“You think they’re having a good time? Billy and Low.”  
“Well… I think it’s good for them to have some peace and quiet. And a steady ground.”  
“Billy’s really taken to him.”  
  
John just hums in agreement and Muldoon thinks about the blindfolded Captain peeling those goddamn potatos and Billy stealing glances every time he possibly could.  
  
“He’s still ugly as shit.”  
  
John snickers but doesn’t answer and Muldoon idly swirls a curl of his lover’s hair around his finger.  
  
“He’s not the ugliest man I’ve seen though.”  
“You’ve changed your mind? Better tell Billy he has your blessing then.”  
“He doesn’t need it.”  
  
Muldoon leans down to John’s sunkissed neck, the scent of the man is so strong there. They need no permission, or blessings. They’re free men, all of them, and their affections are theirs to give to whom they choose, as long as they’re accepted and not forced.  
  
Their hearts, minds and souls are the property of no king, no country and no god and Muldoon doesn’t consider himself a clever man, but he’s lived most of his life on ships and a good part of it as a pirate.  
  
His matelot and the Captain might be fooling the rest of the crew, but Muldoon can tell sorrow from anger and with John leaning freely and relaxed in his arms, waiting for the pain to melt away just a little more, the heart throbbing steadily against Muldoon’s arm, the gunner knows that John might not have any plans on opening that door, but unlike the Captain, he’s not greeting visitors with loaded guns.  
  
And at the end of the day, the monsters they present to the world, are nothing but masks and Muldoon might not be an educated man who can create himself a new mask at will, like John, but he knows there’s always more to see. He knows, as he holds his sweet stranger who’s real name most likely isn’t John Silver at all but one the man wants to forget, that no matter how little of John he’s allowed to have, he still loves it.  
  
In a world as uncertain as this, that’s probably more than most men or women could ask for and so Muldoon kisses the chapped lips, because in some moments the only right way of living, is to remain in the now. 


End file.
